What Are You Doing New Year's
by androgenius
Summary: When asked who would be her midnight kiss on the red carpet, Lea proudly pronounced "my best friend!" and waved over at Jon. That, plus her recent tweets about him, ultimately led to this. Jonathan Groff/Lea Michele RPF.


"... so." Lea grins at him over the top of her half-caff soy vanilla latte that Jon has always thought more than a little ridiculous, softly tapping her feet rhythmically on the red steps below them. Times Square is always busy around this time of year, but it's not so bad on the steps, and he bundles himself up a bit more tightly, his hand staying plenty warm as he holds onto his own, plain coffee with nothing but milk and sugar, as boring as Lea might think it in comparison to her own. "Mom and dad called me earlier to tell me that they had all the food all set up and ready for tomorrow night. They asked if I was excited to ring in 2012 with them, and I lied and said yes."

"Oh?"

"Well," she amends a second later, staring down into her eco-friendly, sustainable cup for a moment. "Maybe not entirely a lie. But I certainly wasn't about to tell them that what I _am_ most excited about is getting to ring it in with my best friend." She grins up at him, and he can't help but smile back. "And getting to kiss you at midnight, of course."

"I think you mean _forcing_ me to kiss you at midnight," he laughs, his arm coming up and around her, offering a tight squeeze. "At least I _think_ I remember those being the words you used."

"You're ridiculous," she laughs, running his hands through his hair for a moment before leaning in to kiss his cheek. "As if I have to force you, right?"

"_Right_," he grins, squeezing one more time before letting taking his arm back once more. "It'd be pretty hard pretending to enjoy making out with you on stage and camera if I didn't enjoy it just a _little_ bit, right?"

"_You,_" she punctuates with a pointed look, "are a miserable tease, and I hope you have to suffer for that tomorrow."

"What?" he can't help but laugh, his whole body rocking with the motion of it. "Are you going to _deliberately_ make me kissing you miserable after I promised you I'd do it? Is that what this is?"

"I guess you won't know until tomorrow night, right?"

No one in the world makes him smile quite like Lea does.

* * *

><p>"Oh, come on, we need the right kind of champagne, or it won't be quite right!"<p>

Lea is all aflutter, as usual, not that the party has even started yet, not really, what with it being only barely past noon. Not that that holds his parents back from an early arrival, Lea's mother scrambling to prepare lunch for them, as well.

"Come on," she grins, grabbing his hand in one of hers, keys in the other before dragging him out the door.

"I really love our parents," she sighs, slipping out the door and into the chill New York air, squeezing his hand softly, "but having them all in the same room is a disaster."

"You're telling me," he can't help but laugh. "You're not the one that had to listen to your mother's speech about why our wedding is long overdue."

"Well, she _is_ right about that. We're engaged, after all."

"Unofficially."

"You gave me a ring..."

"... that was a size too small."

"... no, that I had resized to fit my finger properly so I could wear it proudly," she corrects, and he sighs, letting her take this one for herself. "Whenever you decide to give up your hopeless chase for the perfect boy and recognize that the perfect girl is right in front of you."

It's said in jest, but he knows she really means it, Jon grabbing hold of her shoulders to stop her, turning her to face him.

"I already know you're the perfect girl. That's why I've stopped looking for the perfect guy. Just you and me, now. Platonic soulmates, remember?"

"It would just be nice if you could provide orgasms as well as friendship."

"We'll see," he winks, taking her hand again and squeezing.

If it were any girl, it would have to be Lea.

* * *

><p>"No, no, that banner goes up— yes, like that," she nods frantically to him from her perch on the step-ladder, precariously holding up one side of the banner, <em>Welcome, 2012!<em>

Jenna and Mark have already arrived, along with more than a fair share of other people, Lea all smiles and bustling for attention left and right. It's not hard; she is, after all, Lea Michele, and he has to seriously wonder how she can be everywhere at once and still make him feel like he's the only thing in the room that matters.

When they're not hanging stuff up, her hand is permanently glued to his, dragging him from this room to that room to talk to anyone and everyone at once.

It's a miracle she doesn't get worn out, but he's already learned a long time ago— her constant, high level of energy almost never dissipates, and it's as impressive as it is terrifying to him sometimes, especially now that she's dragged him off to the kitchen, a mysterious glint in her eyes.

"Guuuuess what time it is~!" she beams, pulling their pink bottle of champagne out of the fridge.

"Time for you to drink too much?"

"Don't be silly, I never drink too much. A lady _always_ drinks _just_ the right amount that she intends to drink in the first place."

"As long as I don't have to rescue you off of a table," he grins, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and leaning into her, keeping her body close.

"_You_ need to stop acting like my boyfriend," she scolds, though she makes no move to leave his arms as she slowly undoes the fastening to the soft metal piece ensuring the cork staying safely inside the bottle until, well, now. "In the immortal words of Rachel Berry," she speaks over her shoulder, gently easing out the cork, careful to not get champagne all over herself and him, "it makes me want to be _yours_."

"I'm afraid you're lacking a little bit of penis for that," he sighs over-dramatically, his hands coming up to gently cradle her breasts, one perfectly small mound in each. "And there's a little too much of these going on... but you know what's perfect?" He doesn't wait for her to answer before sliding his hands round to cup her ass. "This right here."

He pats it lightly one more time, smiling as he takes a slow step back, waiting for her to finish pouring their champagne, holding out a glass for him.

"To the fantastic future I have behind me," Lea laughs, lifting hers up with a bright grin, and he can't help but return it.

"It certainly is something _I_ can get behind."

If he's honest with himself, he's dreamt about it and gotten off to the thought of her more than just once. Not that he'll tell her that.

* * *

><p>He's been talking to Jenna for a good twenty minutes or so about this and that, laughing harder than he would without the champagne bubbling happily in his system, when Lea dashes up to drag him— and Jenna, in turn— off to the living room, everyone watching the countdown on the screen.<p>

"I need my New Year's Eve kiss here with me!" She bounces softly, clapping her hands in excitement. They have ten more minutes to go, but he supposes it won't hurt to wait here, with her, pulling his arms around her before dragging her down to sit with him on the couch her parents should have thrown out years ago, the one where he _knows_ she had sex with some guy in high school, only to never tell her parents about it.

"Come on," he grins, pulling her into his lap properly. Lea's all dressed up and fancy, Jon only in his TMNT shirt, but he wouldn't have it any differently, his hands absently stroking at her thighs as his arms stay circled around her waist, just the tiniest bit possessive.

"You know what I think?" she grins as she leans into him, that look in her eyes and that smile on her face that gives away just how drunk she really is by now, the kind that makes him think her unbelievably cute, dangerously flirtatious. "_I_ think you _want_ to kiss me."

"Is _that _so," he laughs, pecking her sweetly on the cheek. "_I_ think _you're_ drunk."

"Maaaaybe," she grins, and he can't help but look a little coy— that is, until she moves to straddle him with a triumphant grin. "I guess we'll see~"

This is a terrible idea, he realizes very quickly as the countdown around them starts— ten, nine, eight— throwing Lea a slightly guarded look for a moment before she nuzzles her nose against his— three, two, one—

There's a moment where Jon is certain he can feel time slow to a crawl, Lea slowly licking her lips, her breath hot against his face, her eyes slipping closed, before finally stealing the distance between them to take his breath away and claim his lips as her own, her lips parting almost instantly against his as he returns the sentiment in kind, fighting the urge to turn this into a competition, Lea eager to stage an assault on his mouth, her tongue slipping inside as the people around them cheer for the advent of a new year.

They say that the thing you do at midnight on New Year's Eve is what you will be doing all year long, and he realizes for a split second as he's kissing her, that he wouldn't mind.

"I'm going to keep kissing you," she mutters softly against his lips, nodding softly, and he has to force himself to pull back, ignore how comfortable he is kissing _a girl_.

"You're drunk," he reminds her just as Mark taps her on the shoulder.

"Hey, whenever you wanna come up for air, everyone but you guys has already clinked glasses, so you might want to get on that."

Lea licks her lips, grinning a little sheepishly as she climbs up off of Jon, and he's suddenly glad that his jeans are loose as they as he gets up to go about the usual formalities with the other patrons at her parents' party.

He can't believe he's thinking about this.

* * *

><p>By the time three in the morning rolls around, most of the guests having cleared out, Lea has him dragged back to her room.<p>

It's not weird; he sleeps in her bed every New Year's Eve _and then some_, but this is different, and he realizes that the second she climbs on top of him to straddle him, her mouth back on his, tasting even more champagne than before.

She's drunk, and she probably doesn't know what she wants (it's not this, it can't be), but more importantly, he wants this, and he has no idea what to do about it.

So he flips her over onto her back, moaning into her mouth as her legs come up to wrap around his waist, just drunk enough to justify _not_ justifying this in some way, Lea's pleas growing more insistent.

"Want you," she whimpers, and he's moved with her far too often in exactly this way— no suspenders this time, but frantically trying to shove his pants down and pushing an experimental finger inside of her to make sure she's good and wet for him already— for this to be weird in some way.

What's worse, when he palms at her breast under her shirt and pushes inside of her with a groan against his lips, it feels completely natural.

He makes sure she comes before he does, knowing far too well the way her mind and body work, just drunk enough not to dwell too much on that, and when she clenches around him, her cunt hot and wet and tight and begging him for his release inside of her, he doesn't bother trying to hold back any longer.

He doesn't regret a thing.

* * *

><p>"I think we should order in today. I don't really feel like going out for the rest of the day," Lea mutters over her shoulder from where she's tweeting on her phone, Jon only barely catching something about a movie marathon with him when he glances over her shoulder.<p>

The sheets had smelled like sex, both of them half-naked and messy and unable to care less, and for a hot moment as he'd lain there, his face tucked into the crook of her neck, he'd felt sixteen again, terrified that their parents were going to catch their indiscretion the night prior.

Now, back at Lea's apartment, everything feels different again, more comfortable, more _them_, Lea tucked neatly between his legs, resting her head on his chest as his arms stay firmly wrapped around her. The TV is playing a Streisand marathon, and Jon can't quite tell what Lea is more focused on— her phone, or the television.

It's a touch battle for just a second, before he realizes that the answer is _neither_ as she turns around to look up at him, beaming adoringly up at him.

"So," she drawls, grinning slowly. "Wheeeen are we going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" he feigns ignorance as he smiles at her, shrugging lightly against her.

"Us fucking."

"Nothing we haven't done before on stage," he laughs, and she turns to face him, placing a stern finger on his lips.

"Jonathan Drew, you can't just ignore this. This is _serious_. This could easily have us engaged within the year and popping out babies the next."

"You know what I think?" he smiles softly, slowly interlacing their fingers to squeeze. "I think that everything happens for a reason."

"What, like my glorious butt?"

"_Maybe_ that played a contributing role," he laughs, his whole body rocking back for a moment as he grins at her, wide. "But that's not very deep, now is it."

"So? Enlighten me, good sir."

"Maybe I just needed to figure out how much I loved your vagina," he grins, burying his nose in her hair before taking a deep breath of her.

It's just another element to their already far too intimate relationship. And if it means she'll get down on one knee within a year, and he'll say yes to her proposal— so be it.


End file.
